


A Passing Evening

by bell (belldreams), belldreams, usomitai (belldreams)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Death, F/M, Grief, Longing, Obitine, Old Flames, processing emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-28 19:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belldreams/pseuds/bell, https://archiveofourown.org/users/belldreams/pseuds/belldreams, https://archiveofourown.org/users/belldreams/pseuds/usomitai
Summary: With Qui-Gon's passing and a brand new Padawan in tow, Obi-Wan finds himself at a loss. An old companion helps him find his way again.





	A Passing Evening

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мимолетный вечер](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18800845) by [Ventress (Lew)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lew/pseuds/Ventress)



> There are things we can't recall, blind as night that finds us all  
> Winter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls  
> But my hands remember hers, rolling around the shaded ferns  
> Naked arms, her secrets still like songs I'd never learned
> 
> \- “Passing Afternoon” by Iron & Wine

The body burned for what seemed like hours. Obi-Wan lost himself watching the flames consume the last of what he’d known as his mentor and greatest of friends. His mind was blank. One thought alone filled him: may Qui-Gon become one with the Force. If anyone deserved that privilege, then it was his old Master. The man who breathed and embodied the Living Force deserved no less. 

When all that was left was ash and a dour taste in Obi-Wan’s mouth, a weight pushed against him. He looked down. It was the boy— Anakin— slumped against his side. Obi-Wan touched him tentatively on the shoulder; shook him. It was no use. The boy’s eyes remained shut, his breaths slow and even. He’d fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. No wonder. He’d had more adventure than any child should in a day. What now? Qui-Gon and the other Jedi had taught Obi-Wan to use his wits and to think of the greater good; how to vanquish a foe in battle. They’d been precious little on the specifics of caring for a young, scared boy. 

And then, as clear as if he’d still been standing there, Obi-Wan could hear Qui-Gon’s words. Mind your thoughts. Don’t let them escape you. Face the moment as it is.

He could’ve wept from the sudden longing to see his Master again. The memories were yet too raw.

Instead, he lifted the boy. He was surprisingly heavy, all dangly limbs that went everywhere. He clutched at Obi-Wan’s collar like it was a lifeline; sighed so deep his chest rose. Something like comfort stirred in Obi-Wan. Here was a purpose. Here was a need he could address. He carried Anakin all the way back to the rooms they’d been given by Padme and tried his best to lay him down gently. But once Anakin was tucked in, the comfort of his surroundings seemed to startle him awake. He propped himself up on his elbows, blinking and disoriented. “Where am I?” he blurted. He looked tiny and lost in the middle of the giant bed. He rubbed at his eyes. “Where’s—” he stopped, as if realizing that there were no good answers to that question. His mother was gone, as was Qui-Gon. 

Obi-Wan sat beside him. The silk sheets really were far too soft. He’d have to find somewhere else to sleep. Perhaps the floor. Not here. He encouraged Anakin to lie back down, who acquiesced reluctantly. “We’re still on Naboo, in the Queen’s Palace. Tomorrow’ll be another long day, so you should get some more sleep.”

Anakin stared at him. “Don’t wanna.” 

Truth be told, he hadn’t seen Anakin sleeping much in this past week they’d travelled together. He’d left that up to Qui-Gon. His protege, his responsibility. If he couldn’t convince him not to take on a boy too old to train, he wouldn’t have any sway over his bedtime. Well. The tables had turned, hadn’t they. Quite suddenly, the path ahead of them seemed exhausting. “Why’s that?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“What if something bad happens and I couldn’t stop it because I was asleep?” 

On Tatooine, there wouldn’t have been much in the way of security. Keeping a home safe was an unreasonable expectation for a nine year old, one that Anakin had certainly taken on at great personal strain. Anakin’s will to protect was commendable, but his fear wouldn’t help him. They’d have to work on it. Maybe they could start with meditation techniques. Would now be too soon to start? It seemed too much too soon, suddenly. It was hard to think.

“Obi-Wan?” 

Right. He took a deep breath. He tried for a reassuring smile. “We all need rest, Anakin. Let it go. It’ll be all right. And it’s ‘Master’ now.”

“Am I going to be strong, Obi— Master?” 

The boy’s anxiety was so clear to him he could almost see it, an impenetrable gauze of midnight blue. It would take time to cut through it. Time was promised to no one, but so long as they were together, they would work on it. He didn’t see how yet, but he had no doubt. He could practically feel it in his grasp. Anakin would be formidable as a Jedi. The Force whispered it to him that it would be so. “You have talent, Anakin. If you work hard, you could learn to harness your talent.”

Anakin gripped the sheets so tight his knuckles whitened. “Work. Get stronger.”

“Yes. Tomorrow. Sleep, now.”

There was no chance this boy would sleep while he stayed. He’d talk to him as long as he was around, surely. A bit of quiet would help him. When Obi-Wan left the room and turned off the lights, Anakin was staring intensely at the ceiling.

*

Obi-Wan couldn’t have stayed still if his life depended on it. He needed to move. Needed to walk and think. He felt something drawing him outside and he yielded to that impulse. Call it listening to Qui-Gon’s wisdom, even after his departure. Death. Name what it is. Face it. Do not fear, do not mourn. His feet were quiet even in the cavernous, marble halls of the Theed Palace. Stone statues dozens of feet high watched in guard as he passed. 

His instincts led him outside and down an imperial set of stairs edged with generously sized pots of bougainvillea. Clay pieces and flowers lay smashed against the pavement below. A casualty of today’s fighting. A team of gardeners working late into the night were hauling earth and sculpture pieces. He helped a pair move a broken chunk of the staircase itself. It felt good to be a part of the rebuilding.

But this was not where he was needed. Further still he felt summoned; onwards into the gardens he walked. 

The smell of petals was cloying as he went in deeper. Bees droned lazily around him, drunk off the plants so in abundance here. The hedges towered over him, blocking the Palace’s light. Now he walked by instinct and moonlight alone. It was a beautiful night, something worth living for. Qui-Gon would’ve loved it. He would’ve wanted to sit in the middle of a path, cross his legs, and just take it all in. Qui-Gon had often made them stop in the middle of a mission just to absorb and appreciate where they were. This’d been torture to Obi-Wan as a young boy. They couldn’t just sit and  _ smell _ things. There was always someone to rescue, a disaster to avert. Pace yourself, Qui-Gon had advised. Find a connection with your surroundings. That connection will make all the difference in your task.

There. The sound of water cascading. That was were he was meant to be. Having found his purpose, Obi-Wan’s pace quickened. As he drew closer, the water’s volume only increased. What a lovely sound. It must be quite the fountain. He could see its stone structure towering over the hedges. He turned the corner, eager to reach his destination. 

Obi-Wan’s heart lurched, forgetting its own rhythm. There in the moonlight, perched on the rim of the fountain, sat none other than the Duchess of Mandalore. Satine. He’d been so focused on following the call he hadn’t thought to be more aware. Hadn’t sensed her presence. And now, facing her for the first time in years since they’d had to separate, she stopped him in his tracks. Just like always. No matter how filthy they’d become in that desperate year on the run, she’d still always struck him speechless. 

He never did get over her. 

Why was she here? For him? For a startling second, it just made sense. Of course in this critical juncture of his life she’d be here. She’d come to help him grieve Qui-Gon. For that second, Obi-Wan was humbled. That she would do this for  _ him _ . 

The moment passed. He remembered their stations and their lives. He’d made his choice to resume his life as a Jedi rather than help her rebuild Mandalore. There was no reason for her to come just to ease his grief. He hadn’t earned that right. 

He took a deep breath. Re-centered himself. “Duchess.” She turned her head for the first time, not having heard him before. Her long blonde locks tumbled down her bare, pale shoulders. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite make out her expression. He hoped she was at least a little pleased. Even if she hadn’t come for him, he was still grateful to see her. It softened the ache in his heart, somehow. They’d shared Qui-Gon for that year. She’d known him. She’d understand his loss in a way not many could. He said, “What a pleasant surprise.” 

“Obi-Wan.” Satine held a hand to her chest. “I thought I might run into you.” Her voice was soft yet neutral. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but take a step closer. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Not quite a loss,” he corrected, reciting a lesson learned long ago, in a group with other younglings. Obi-Wan had a sudden physical memory of their voices chanting together, the Coruscant evening sun reflecting off the classroom’s warm wooden floors. “He is one with the Force. He is with us still.” Come back, to the here and now. Why was this so hard for him?

He sat on the marble, smooth and cool, spotted with water beads. He was an arm’s length away. Close, but not too close. As it ever had been between them. Another wave of emotion passed over him, a mixture of grief and longing. He closed his eyes and let himself experience the feelings. They washed over him like the tide, pulling in and receding. The ache lessened, but he felt the wave cresting again, ready to rush back in. 

It seemed as though both past and present were rife with emotion. 

Satine gazed him with concerned, serious eyes. “Excuse me,” Obi-Wan said. “I was… elsewhere, for a moment.” 

She didn’t quite smile. It was too sad and understanding to be that. “You Jedi and your lack of feelings,” she chided. An old argument, but it lacked her usual vehemence. 

“Not a lack of feelings.” How easily they stepped back into their old debates, as if they were still teenagers hidden from all civilization and with nothing but each other’s wits to occupy themselves. “We just try not to dwell on them.” 

“Yes, I recall.” Her gaze went distant. Maybe she was experiencing the past just as much as he was. “I never did understand how you did it.”

“Not very well, sometimes,” Obi-Wan confessed. 

He startled at a touch; Satine stroked his face, having come closer. A drumming pounded in his ears, louder than the pouring water besides them. “It’s all right,” she said. Her expression was so soft. As if she felt all that was running through him. He never understood how someone with so much fire within could have the gentlest of touches. There was that ache, back again. If only she could be closer still. “You don’t have to be perfect. Not with me.” 

Something in him gave way. Maybe it was the loss of his Master. Maybe it was a past he hadn’t truly let go, not yet. Maybe it was he’d never been able to resist Satine. But he let himself touch that sharp cheek; trail his palm to the back of her head. Her hair was silken and wispy. The finest thing he’d touched all day, which was quite the feat, given the textures in the Palace. This close, he could smell the fruit in her perfume. A Mandalorian plant. 

These were just emotions. Nothing more, nothing worse. 

Satine nestled her head against his shoulder. Obi-Wan was bathed in the memory of longing. This was the closest they’d ever allowed themselves to come, under the pretence of carrying her to safety. As a younger man, his palms started sweating the moment he reached out to touch her. Today, he allowed himself to embrace her; to press his face against the crown of her head. Today felt like a day with no lines, no rules, no limits. Today he lost a Master, gained a Padawan, and murdered a Sith lord. 

Murder. The Zabrack hadn’t made a sound as he’d fallen down that shaft. It’d happened all so fast. But Obi-Wan’s hand twitched in memory of holding Qui-Gon’s lightsaber as if ready to fight again. He didn’t let himself hold Satine too close. He could hear their past screaming arguments ringing in his head, yelling at each other when they should’ve been quieter than a grave. They couldn’t stop themselves from the heated exchanges: Satine, desperate to sway him from violence; himself, burning to make her understand that sometimes physical force was the only way forward. 

He would’ve abandoned everything for her. One word, and he’d have left his home, his culture, the Jedi Order. He wouldn’t be here today, mourning Qui-Gon and facing a future with Anakin. But Satine had never uttered that word. They’d never even talked of it. To ask would’ve been to broach a vulnerability too delicate to bear. But Obi-Wan imagined he knew the reason why. There was one thing he could not renounce, and that was the chance to do right. And if doing right meant striking an enemy, how could he not? So long as they disagreed on this one point, there was no point in even trying to be together. 

“Why are you here, Satine?” His voice surprised him with how raw it was. As if he’d been shouting for hours. 

Her hand found his. The touch both soothed and unnerved him. “I came to support to Queen Amidala on behalf of Mandalore. What occurred here by the hands of the Trade Federation was nothing short of acrimonious! Mandalore has been, and will be, a staunch ally to Naboo.” Her voice rang loud and clear. Somehow, even through his tumultuous thoughts and emotions, Obi-Wan could not but give a small smile. She was as passionate and dedicated as ever. She hadn’t lost that edge. Submitting to the moment, he rubbed the sharp ridges of her bare shoulder blades. She sighed. “And I am here for Master Qui-Gon, my dear old friend.” 

Obi-Wan’s throat tightened. “Are you.” 

She eyed him. “You remember the time we had no credits but needed to get off planet?” 

“And he offered life advice to the Calamarian in exchange for passage?”

“And it  _ worked _ ?” 

“How could I forget?” It seemed impossible to find mirth on such an evening, but they chuckled together. It felt good, to remember Qui-Gon this way. 

But the laughter passed quickly. “I am sorry, Obi-Wan.” 

“I know.” 

“If I may be so bold—“ Satine looked at him directly, strong and resolute. “I did hope to see you today, Obi-Wan.” 

Everything stopped. There was no sound, no scent, nothing. Just Satine’s blue eyes focused on him. Obi-Wan couldn’t think. She  _ had _ wanted to run into him. 

Every time. Every single time, she struck him to the core, without even trying. 

There was no passion, there was serenity. But perhaps there could be serenity in expressing that passion. 

Obi-Wan whispered, “Do you ever think of what might’ve been?”

Her eyes shone. “You fool,” she said, bright and sharp and so full of life. 

Kissing Satine was a homecoming. A relief years in the waiting. Their touch was soft and tender. He’d always imagined something dark would befall him if he gave in to the longing. That he’d drown, unable to keep himself from plunging the depths of attachment and all the negative emotions that came of it. But today he’d seen far worse. He’d seen evil itself. He’d lost Qui-Gon. But to finally feel Satine’s lips against his, to press against his cheek against hers— it just felt pure. Right. All that he felt had somewhere to  _ go _ , finally. These were just feelings. Not an untamed animal. How simple they suddenly seemed. 

When they parted, they looked each other deep in the eyes. A sort of understanding passed between them. “Nothing’s changed,” she whispered. 

“Nothing,” he agreed. She was still Duchess of Mandalore, staunch pacifist. And he was still a Jedi, now with a Padawan in tow. If there had ever been a moment for them to be, it had passed a decade ago. When he could have chosen to compromise his ethics and stay with her to rebuild Mandalore. But he hadn’t. And here they were. 

They kissed again, and again. What started as a mere brush of lips deepened. He could not taste her enough. He clasped her tight to his chest, feeling alive at the touch.

“Come,” she invited.

And so he took her hand, and followed her back through the gardens, breathing in deep the sweet night air. If he’d thought his own accommodations luxurious, it was nothing compared to that of a head of state. Somehow, for a single night with someone he cared for so deeply, it seemed appropriate. They kissed and touched and rocked against each other’s bodies, and Obi-Wan knew he would never be sated, but that this would be enough. He lived in the moment, and he was at peace. 

*

The following morning, Obi-Wan let himself be led by instinct again. He was led to the Palace’s spaceship hangar and straight into a N-1 Starfighter. There, tucked into the cockpit, was Anakin, sound asleep with his knees tucked in and hands under his chin. “Oh,” Obi-Wan sighed. “We have a long way to go with you, don’t we.” But in the morning light, their path didn’t seem quite as fraught as the night before. His head and heart were clear. He sat beside his Padawan and waited for him to wake up. 

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, cheers to @GFFA (Tumblr) for her astute questions when I was floundering with direction, and to @Zulu (Dreamdwidth) for hand-holding. Y'all are the best ❤


End file.
